Flesh of his Flesh
by Laurielove
Summary: A look at Jane and Edward's wedding night and the days following - their proper wedding night in Ch 38. They at last complete their relationship - mind, soul and body - and I convey Jane's feelings, details and all, of what that means to her. Mature, detailed content, yes, but written tastefully in keeping with the original, I hope. M readers only, please. Jane/Rochester


**_Jane Eyre_ is it for me, or should I say, Edward Rochester is it. I've revisited the novel recently and then gorged myself on various TV and film adaptations - I love them all. But I returned ultimately to the 1983 BBC series with Timothy Dalton and Zelah Clarke, because it is simply the one, and Timothy Dalton was my first and truest Rochester. (Insert blushing emoji here.)**

 **And so I wrote this. I had to really, because if it wasn't for this novel I don't think I would have written anything. Like I said on my facebook page, all my Luciuses (Lucii?) and Hooks and Snapes have something of Rochester in them. He is the paradigm of the tormented romantic hero for me.**

 **This story is about their wedding night and the days following - their proper wedding in the last chapter, that is. Yes, I go into detail about what happens, but I hope beyond hope that it is not crude or distasteful. I have emulated Charlotte Bronte's style for believability and hope that what follows seems natural, respectful and in keeping.**

 **I did consider whether it was an insult to Charlotte Bronte to write sex for Jane and Edward, but the novel is about sex as much as it is about companionship and love and conflict. Edward Rochester is a man who was driven by sex - it was in fact his ruin (Bertha, Celine ...), and only a monk would assert that the attraction between Jane and Rochester is not underpinned by the deepest sexual longing. Theirs is a complete relationship - the ultimately complete relationship - few of us are lucky enough to find what they do in each other.**

 **I think they deserve great sex, so here I give it to them, but, like I said, as tastefully and authentically as I possibly can.**

 **I LOVED writing this and I'm very pleased with it. Hope you enjoy. LL x**

 **-xoOox-**

 **'...** **I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.' _Jane Eyre_ , Charlotte Bronte, Chapter XXXVIII**

* * *

It was a quiet affair, our wedding, he and I, the parson and clerk only.

I daresay Mary and John could scarce believe the news when I announced it quietly on our return, but their happiness was clear and immediate. I gave them a five pound note – a wedding gift from my husband – and left them to absorb the new situation. I smiled to hear them extolling our praises as I walked from the kitchen.

My husband and I took a picnic out to the moors that afternoon and talked as we always did. This was our gathering, this our reception. My bridal decorations were the heathers and ferns, our guests the song thrush and starlings that alighted near us, cocking their heads expectantly for any crumbs that fell their way. We talked, Edward and I, as we always did, as easy and frank and fascinated by each other as we had been that first day at Thornfield.

But as the afternoon wore on, I sensed a shift, not only in him but in me. The evening approached: our wedding night.

Was I anxious, reader, you may wonder? I should have been, should I not? Yet there was something so unerringly right about our togetherness that I felt only a deep certainty about what was to occur. Edward grew quieter as the sun dropped, but he was always close enough to be able to touch my hand, stroke my cheek, hear my every breath and inhale the very scent of me.

He lay beside me and I studied him closely. His scars and disfigurements had rendered him in some people's eyes yet more brutal than ever before. He was, I will say myself, a far cry from the graceful, pale form of St John Rivers. But to me he was so far from ugly as to make me stare in wonder. I thrilled to his long legs, which still now carried him powerfully when the path ahead was clear. His chest was as broad and proud as it had always been and tapered to a slender waist. His jaw was strong and his cheekbones high. It is true that his brows gave him a grave countenance, but one in which I read only passion. And his hair I adored, that thick dark hair that made me reach into him for nourishing kisses. To me, he was the only man I could ever desire. And desire him I did. I always had, although I had not dared acknowledge it for so long.

'You have grown quiet, Jane,' he said now. 'What is the matter?'

'No matter.' I said nothing further. He would ask more. I had always been able to tease him with my silences.

He could wait only a beat before asking again, 'What are you doing? Why are you silent?' I heard the familiar rise of frustration and allowed myself a private smile.

'I'm studying you.'

He huffed. 'We are married, Jane. It is too late to find fault now.'

'I find no fault. None at all. That is why I am studying you. I adore studying you. You are perfect to me.'

I reached down and kissed him and he held me hard with his good hand, deepening the kiss. That ache I had felt inside for so long now, that anticipation I could not control, started to throb away, but I pulled back with a soft laugh. He could wait a moment longer.

'We are married, Janet,' he repeated, trying again to reach for my lips. 'Married. I can scarce say it aloud for fear it isn't real.'

'Oh, it is real, Edward.' My love for him rose up so strong that I let him pull me back to him so that I lay back on the dampening grass. He moved to lie half over me and I felt his strength pressing me down. Far from fearing it, I adored it and pushed up into him, wanting to absorb all of him.

We kissed, not the chaste, inquiring kisses of new love, but of two who could not be separated. Again, when I think back, I should have felt shame perhaps. Should I, reader? Should I have remembered myself, remembered my position and provenance. Little Jane Eyre. Quiet Jane. Careful Jane.

But as my love kissed me, opened me to him and I gave back, I knew that this was indeed me. This was me: Jane Rochester. All I had ever meant to be, wanted or needed to be.

Edward pushed against my mouth with his, nudging at my lips which opened willingly. And then, something unfamiliar, but again, so good and true. He slipped his tongue inside my mouth. I thought not of rejecting this intrusion but welcomed it, opening my mouth for him to take more and giving more of me in return. He groaned as he kissed me, and the sound travelled into me, from his mouth to mine. That raw sound was as good to me as the sensations his lips and tongue were drawing from me.

His hand meanwhile had left my newly tangled hair and slid down over my gown, cupping my waist hard, pulling me against him. It was then I felt it. I admit to a small ripple of anxiety then and only then. When one has lived so long with only one's solitude to judge from, when one has maintained a distance to perceiving those around, this sudden realisation of the effect I was having on him shook me. I felt him: real, hard, pressing against me. Even through the layers of my skirts, I felt him.

He broke from my lips to drag his mouth to my ear. 'Jane,' he murmured, low and rich. 'My love, my Jane … my wife, at last. My dream is real and she is here.'

He drew back slightly and for a moment I forgot he could not see, and I believe he did too. I have no doubt he saw me before him in his mind perfectly. His eyes looked straight at me and I looked back, and his gaze was as dark with passion as I had ever seen in him. And his passion dispelled any fear that had gnarled at me, and transferred itself only inside me, right into my depths.

I felt at that moment empty, hollow – not soulless, oh no, never so, because I knew my love was there to mend it, to heal that emptiness. But the physical ache of it surprised me, perhaps because I knew what it meant and wanted it beyond want.

He kissed me again and his hand left my waist and worked down my leg which I instinctively drew up for him. But he found only skirt upon skirt and pulled back again with a grunt of frustration. 'Jane …'

Still I kissed him, unable not to. All my kisses he met and took, but, through the greatest self-coercion, he pulled back and withdrew his hand. 'Jane … let us return to the house. It grows cold and I fear it may rain.'

I was a little surprised at his proposal, but more surprised at my own willingness to ignore him and to continue our exploration of each other right there on the hillside. For I would have. I would have given all of myself to him right there and then under the greying sky and on the dampening earth. When he stopped himself I can only admit to feeling disappointment but I smiled and kissed him again. I clung to his hand, not wanting to lose the contact between us and, as he stood and pulled me to my feet, I fell against him, making him take a stumbling step back to steady himself. He laughed and clutched me tight against him. Again, there he was, pressing into me.

I reached up to him, as tall as he was, and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, so that not even the wind could hear. 'I can feel you.' At that, I pressed into him wilfully, eliciting the slightest groan.

'Yes, yes, you can. That is my love for you, that is what you do to me, what you have done to me for so long, so long. How often I had to hide it, to ignore it, to banish it, no longer … But not here, Jane.'

'I am ready,' I said, stroking his face.

He smiled. 'I know, but not here. I will make it perfect for you, my love. It will and must be perfect.'

Again we kissed and that throbbing hollowness inside threatened to upend me. I clung to his broad shoulders and pressed myself against the firm length of him. Now I knew desire, now I understood. 'Hurry then, please hurry.'

He chuckled against my lips then turned, holding my hand hard, and started down the hill. It made me laugh. 'Careful! You may stumble! Let me lead.'

'Lead then, Janet, for distance torments us both.'

It started to rain. I recalled that time at Thornfield, when my world was filled with the greatest happiness: that night of his first kiss, his first proposal, his first admission of love. How I had wanted him then, but so little had I known, so little had I understood, of him, of me, of love even.

But my love was as true then as it was now: only now it had an outlet, it had a reason.

We hurried as best we could into the house, as much as our frequent stops to kiss and clasp each other would allow.

Once inside he wasted no time in going first – he knew the house so well by now despite his loss of sight – guiding me, as if I were the blind one, up the stairs, turning to stroke and kiss, but moving swifter than an arrow. John and Mary must have heard the door close but little else. They let us be.

We reached the chamber. His chamber. Our chamber. It was now, although I had always walked past it before, lingering, kissing him goodnight at the door, but never entering. Sometimes I dreamed of another disaster befalling him so that I could rush in and once again be his rescuer and absorb the intimacy of him as I had that fateful night at Thornfield, that night of the fire when he had clung to my hand and not let me go. That was the night my desire for him had awakened and refused to go away.

And now, at last, I was to return to his bedchamber. I was to recapture that intimacy, bring that desire to life as his wife.

Was I afeard? I was a little, but not for the reasons you may think. I was afeard not of him but of myself. For my passion for him were so overwhelming I feared I would not be able to tame it. It seemed to me to be a wild thing so different to all I had so far exacted in my life. But at the same time it was so wonderful and glorious as to be impossible not to delight in and embrace.

Edward stopped outside the door, holding my hand gently, and turned to look down at me, again seeing me through his blindness, I knew. I squeezed his hand a little.

'Mrs Rochester,' he said softly, barely daring it seemed, as if a lingering disbelief still clung to him.

I said nothing, but reached over and turned the door handle myself, pushing it open.

He raised his head up, drew in a breath and walked into the room, pulling me behind him. I shut the door, closing us into this new world.

Edward stopped in the middle of the room, his feet slightly apart. He stood tall but there was an uncertainty carried in his shoulders, as if he was unsure how to proceed, as if again, he could not believe his reality.

Softly and carefully, I approached him. I took hold of his good hand and guided it to my face, palm up. I kissed it and moved it to my cheek and pressed against it.

'Jane,' he murmured, coming closer and resting his forehead on mine while still cupping my face. 'I have you … and I hold you … and I love you.'

I gave him my lips and kissed him, softly this time, then drew back to affirm against his mouth, 'And I love you.'

He kissed me now, gently at first but with growing intensity and the ache leapt inside, arching its way through me as if wanting to burst out.

I pressed my full length against him as I had on the moor and once again felt that marvellous thing that was his love for me. I revelled in it, delighted in it. He kissed me harder yet, opening my mouth as he had done before, and I let him.

For some time we kissed only, but both knew that it was only the beginning, that our lives together, despite the magnitude of all that had gone before, were only now starting.

His hand moved behind to my laces and my heart and belly leapt at the feel of them loosening. How I had dreamt this, how I had longed for this, secretly, forbidden hopes now real and present.

He managed nimbly with only one hand to tug the laces out of their eyes and soon my gown was loose enough to slip from my shoulders. I barely noticed it. I was revealing myself to a man, to this man, but it was the only thing I could do, so altogether perfect and right.

I stepped out of the gown and Edward moved with me, bending to kiss me again. When his hand came across the bare flesh of my shoulder, he brought his head down and planted soft kisses along the newly revealed skin. I reached up to hold him there, sighing out as my love left a trail of warm blessings over my new nakedness. I was barely aware of it, but my own fingers now started to undo my undergarments, tugging at laces, pushing hooks from eyes. My corset came away quickly and I was soon left in nothing but my shift.

The magnitude of my situation impressed itself on me suddenly and I gave an involuntary shiver of anticipation.

'Are you cold, Jane?' Edward asked as he hushed over my skin.

'No,' I murmured back. 'I am warm.'

'So warm,' he affirmed, pulling me against him. 'So warm.' He plunged his head down, kissing me ardently. My head swam with desire, my body met his. Now my hands grappled with his clothing, pushing his coat off his shoulders, undoing his waistcoat and removing it. He wore clothes so well, I had often thought, his athletic form showing off the garments perfectly, but now I wanted only to be rid of them, to feel the rawness of my love against me.

I held his head, kissing him as passionately as he did me.

'Jane,' he said, 'Jane! You are a fairy, I knew it, for you bewitch me in ways no one else could ever do.'

'No fairy, Edward, but wife. Please, please.'

I was kissing him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He laughed at my haste and let me undo them nimbly. The shirt fell apart and his torso was revealed. He stilled for a moment, as if granting me time to study him yet again, which I duly did. But my hands did as much as my eyes. They rested on his chest, warm and firm, then before I could doubt – not that I had a morsel of doubt in me – I pushed his shirt from his shoulders and let it fall from him.

I had thought of men's bodies before. I had dreamt them and drawn them even, secretly, private drawings only I had ever seen, but my husband's body was more perfect to me than any artistic rendering. Tears sprang to my eyes. I brought my hands behind his back and pulled him into me, then kissed him, kissed over his chest, absorbing his solidity into me.

He held me against him, his head up, rocking me as I kissed over him. 'Jane,' he murmured again, 'Jane,' an endless litany of affirmation that I was his. When I had covered all I could in my kisses, I turned up again for another on his lips and at last he whispered, 'Are you ready?'

Was there any doubt? Was there a need to ask? Not in my mind. I had been ready for so long, far longer than decency allowed, I will confess.

I nodded, then gave him the verbal acknowledgement he needed. 'Yes, yes, my love. I have waited so long.'

' _You_ have waited? I have waited for this since … oh, I cannot tell you or you would think me the devil himself.'

I took hold of my shift and removed it. I stood before him entirely naked and felt no hint of shame. Perhaps more would have come if I thought he could see me, but as it was, I felt as if this was how I was meant to be. With him, I was truly born for this.

I moved into him, pushing against him, and his hand stroked over my back before moving down and smoothing over the rise of my buttocks. Oh never had touch been so welcome, so exciting, so wondrous.

My hands moved to his breeches and the buttons concealing him from me. I could tell he was hard beneath but it filled me only with such exhilaration I could scarcely breathe.

Edward drew in a juddering breath but said nothing. I worked quickly so as not to prolong the painful anticipation and he helped to push down then stepped out of them. And so he was quite naked.

He stood there, tall and proud, although I knew a slight tension had captured him. He was worried. Worried what I would think.

He need not have feared. It was indeed a most glorious sight and I delighted in it. Are you shocked, reader, that I should feel that way? Should I have blushed? Should I have averted my gaze? For I did not. I gazed on my husband and I loved him.

Once again I moved into him and kissed him and our naked bodies moved together as we held each other, the new sensation of flesh upon flesh exciting yet so right as to be almost familiar to me.

He released a sob against me and when I pulled back his face was damp with tears. I kissed them away and his kiss grew stronger again, powerful.

With that we moved to the bed. I guided him – little was needed, he worked on instinct – then fell back against it.

'My turn,' he said. 'I will make you ready. It will hurt, Jane, this first time, you know that.'

'Yes.'

'But I will make it as good as I can. And it will only hurt the once, then I promise that I will make you fly.'

I could not resist another tease. 'I'm a fairy, sir. I can already fly.'

He laughed and smothered me in another kiss. 'Indeed. That is how you flew back to me across the moors.'

And we kissed again. I do not believe we could ever stop kissing, for in our kisses the world was good and bright and wondrous. But then, through the kiss, he began to move down, more kisses, but planted anywhere and everywhere, over each and every morsel of my body. It was as if he was learning me, discovering me, as indeed he was, or at least completing in body that which he already knew in mind and soul. The wheel of our lives was being completed, the final cog fitted that would allow it to turn freely.

He moved down over my breasts and again no shame arose. I had wondered about them when younger, watched them grow and swell, felt them ache and tingle and change according to the weeks and the seasons. Now they responded as if coming to life anew. They leapt to his touch, they yearned for him. And he seemed almost to know them, so instinctive and right were his attentions. He kissed, he nuzzled, he closed his lips upon the tight pink buds and still no shame came. I arched up into his mouth and gave to him, gave of myself and for myself. His hand worked on one and his mouth the other and I could merely lie and let him. I held him upon me, tangling my fingers in that thick, black hair while he wrought such glorious sensation in me that I wondered if I would drown in a flood of feeling.

I gasped and he left them for a time, moving down over my belly, letting his tongue trail a cooling path as he went. I hurt, in a way, for my need had risen to such a height that it pained me. Inside I was crying, screaming for him, that mad hollowness so profound that I was not sure I could survive it.

Then he drew back up and returned to kissing my mouth, but his hand stayed on my body, ghosting over my breasts, so inflamed by his attentions, flitting across my belly before seeking further down.

His fingers worked over that most precious, private place, the soft hairs giving little resistance. He kissed away my gasp and silenced me with his mouth. His hand moved further down … and there!

 _There._ He pulled back to let me take in much needed air.

 _Oh, Edward, what, what is that, is that real, is that true?_

For it was. His touch, unashamed, bold and brazen, sought deep into my very soul. His fingers worked along me, stroking, rubbing so perfectly, so wondrously.

'Open your eyes if they are not,' he whispered. 'Are they open? Look at me.' Were they open? I had not realised. I opened them and looked into him. He would not see me but I would look nonetheless. His unseeing eyes stared down at me and in his way he saw, I knew it, he saw all that was needed.

His fingers did not slow: coaxing, stroking, drawing such feelings from me that I questioned my very existence. When I gasped too sharply, he kissed away my surprise; when I moaned he drew back and let me breathe it out.

And so he built me. Touch upon touch, sensation upon sensation. And I let him. I could have held back; I could have resisted, but I knew that this is what Edward and I could be, what we always were meant to be.

And then – _oh wonder!_

 _Feeling._ Such feeling as I had dreamed but never imagined, thought but not conceived, fancied but not felt. Now I felt it. Now I knew. Cascades fell through me, over and over. I cried out – I could not help myself – my body became his and jerked under his touch, up into the hand which had wrought this in me. Such sensation, such joy.

And then it left me and I lay quite still, unable to move, unable to think, it seemed. He gave me time, neither hurrying me nor pressing me. I stared above me, considering this new being I had become so suddenly and completely.

At length came, with a hint of anxiety, 'Jane? Are you well?'

And I laughed. I laughed at his confusion, at his concern. I laughed at the glory of my body and his touch. I laughed at my happiness. I kissed him. 'Yes, my love, I am quite well. I am so well I am flying. Thank you, my darling, thank you, thank you.'

He joined my laugh and held me. 'Have you never before …?'

'No. Never.'

'Oh, Jane, for someone to take such delight in life and yet never to have experienced that … I am sorry.'

'Why are you sorry? You have done it, you have opened that to me for the first time. It could only have been you.'

'But to have waited so long ... We men tend to discover these things for ourselves quite early, but I suppose for women it can be … a different matter.'

I laughed and kissed him again. 'I have discovered it now, or rather you have revealed it to me, and that is all that matters.'

'But it is not all, Jane. I want you to be ready, prepared. I want you to know what can be, for what is to come, I fear, may not feel that way for you this first time.'

'I'm aware of that. I care not.' The ache inside was still there, although his glorious ministrations had dulled it for a moment. Now, at the thought of it, and the look of him there before me, larger and harder than ever, it reasserted itself profoundly. 'Please … now.'

I kissed him, and with no hesitation, his own need seeming to take over, he moved atop me. He pushed my legs apart and he positioned himself between them. I sensed a new urgency in him, a new dominance. It might have unnerved me but did not; it was all I wanted.

Edward stopped speaking and pushed up my right leg, angling it at such an angle so as to prepare himself. His hand returned briefly to me, stroking one more time as if gauging my readiness. He found the confirmation he needed and he held himself. I reached up to his shoulders, the slightest apprehension returning. I was so little, after all, and he so big. But he was beyond delay, I could tell. His breathing came fast and deep and he readied himself.

He moved suddenly, almost without warning, and there it was. We were joined; we were united.

When I think back, I realise it did hurt. I cried out, I think, I cried out with the pain of it, but at the time I did not hear it nor care. He was inside me. I held him hard, so hard I fear I scratched him.

He moved forward again, fully, completely, this time with a low cry of his own, an unearthly cry that was all man and yet not. I will remember that sound for always. I felt pain again, yes, a sharp pain of completion, but the ache had gone, the throb of emptiness had been filled.

I clung to him. He rested on me for some time, panting beyond the exertion of the two thrusts which had sent him into me, as if he had been trying to come into me for years, not seconds.

We lay there silently for some time, feeling the other, knowing the other, realising that all our words, all our despairs and hopes and trials were all for this. Now it all made sense, now it could all be reconciled. The wheel of life – mind, heart, soul and body – could turn.

He turned his head after some time and we kissed again. 'I have to move,' he murmured.

'Yes, my love, yes, move in me.'

So he did. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. I gasped in with the rawness of it and he stilled for a moment, but then his own desire grew too great and he started to move with more intensity, stroking his way in and out of me. Whenever he pulled out, I despaired, but when he pushed back in my heart soared and my body gleamed. I was too tender to reach the dizzying heights to which he had brought me earlier, not this time, but I knew that it would happen again soon, for I felt something so wonderful brewing inside that I would want it always.

I clung to him as he moved within me, stroking his back. He buried his head in my neck and started to moan, low, uncontrollable moans, as he worked inside my body. And then he stopped and his body hardened yet more, I felt it under my fingertips. With the deepest groan something changed within him. I knew it and I adored it and took it.

He lay then, quite still save for his deep breaths. He lay on me, heavy and potent, but I did not mind. Edward stayed inside me and I never wanted him to leave. This was where he belonged. After minutes, I could tell that his rigid hardness had lessened although he still did not come out of me.

But necessity meant that he had to move; I fear we would have both cramped if we had remained thus for too long, so, reluctantly, he moved to the side, falling from me in the process.

'Don't leave me,' I said, the tragedy of it real.

He smiled. A kiss. 'Don't leave _me_.'

'Edward, I shall not.'

'Nor I you.' Kiss. 'Are you in pain? Did I hurt you?'

'There was inevitably some pain … but you did not hurt me.'

'It won't be like that again, I promise you.'

'I know that, but it was wonderful nonetheless. I needed to feel pain this time, I know, but beyond that I felt … such wonder … Oh, Edward, I miss you already!'

He smiled. 'I cannot contain my happiness, Jane.'

'There is no need to contain it. It is illimitable.'

He turned with a deep sigh. 'I wish only that I could look on you properly.'

'You will, I am certain of it. But for now, I will be your eyes.'

'And my heart and my soul and my flesh.'

We were kissing again, but then, the exertions of the day seemed to take us both and, entwined in each other's arms, we fell into the deepest, most contented sleep.

-xoOox-

There is no pleasure so profound as waking up in the arms of your beloved. I know that now. The morning after our wedding – our true wedding – I woke up in the arms of Mr Rochester, and there has not been a day since when I have not.

He was still asleep when I awoke and as he slept I saw in him the boy he must have been, fresh, innocent and ready for all life could give. I longed to touch him, to stroke and kiss him, but feared I would wake him, and, in any case, watching him sleep was such a delight that the urgency to touch dissipated soon enough.

After minutes, an hour even, where I simply lay on my elbow and watched him, he stirred. He inhaled deeply and turned onto his back, but then, as consciousness asserted itself, his eyes opened, albeit unseeing, and he turned towards me. 'Jane?' he said urgently, his voice thick with sleep but unable to mask the fear in his voice that it was all imagined.

'I am here, my love.' I reached out and placed my hand on his chest immediately.

He relaxed and smiled fully. 'Here, with me, here.'

I kissed him. 'Always. Now and always.'

I lay on his chest and he drew his arm around me. 'Are you sore, Jane?'

'A little. It matters not.'

'Was it … a shock to you?'

'It was wonderful to me, even through the pain, it was wonderful. And what happened before, what you did … Edward, I had not realised such pleasures existed.'

He stroked my arm but his next question was grave. 'And how is your spirit? Afflicted like your body?'

'What do you mean?' He had returned to the curious questioning with which we had first made our acquaintance.

'I mean, Jane … do you fear for your soul now that you have tasted such pleasure?'

I thought about it for a time. Perhaps I should, but surely if I had put my soul in jeopardy the world would seem out of sorts, disjointed. Instead, I felt nothing but the deepest peace and calm.

'No, I do not. Quite the opposite. Never has my soul been so settled.'

He smiled. 'You are a rare one, Jane. Others would not see it thus. Your friend, Mr Rivers, for one, I am sure.'

'I am sure too, but I am with you, Mr Rochester, not St John.'

He pushed himself up and gave a frown of mock indignation. 'I am your husband, Jane, not he! You are in my bed and yet you refer to him by his Christian name and me by my title! You little minx, still you confound me!' He leant over me and let his fingers work their way between my ribs. I laughed and held him off as best I could although, I confess, I had little spirit ever to hold him off.

'Perhaps, Edward, if we were not bound within matrimony then I would fear for my soul.'

'Aye, that you would, as you made abundantly clear to me on several occasions.'

'Still you rebuke me for that?' I would dare him to say it. My quitting of him after our first sham attempt at marriage pained us both but could not be ignored.

'Not rebuke. I cannot rebuke you … and I respect you unequivocally for it.'

'But you would have happily kept me as your mistress, as your lover … and allowed my soul to be put in jeopardy then.'

He sighed but could not deny it. 'Aye, I would have, quite happily, for life without you was not worth living.'

'Then you were desperately selfish, for that takes no account of my life.'

'Selfish, yes, but I knew not what else to do. There was no life without you. But I would have given to you all you have now, you know that. I would have lived only for your happiness.'

'But you could not have given me peace of mind, Edward. Can you not see that our bodies work together now simply because our souls and our minds do too? We cannot have the one without the other. And how could either of us have lived with that terrible impediment still present?'

'The terrible impediment that was my mad wife.'

'Oh don't put it like that, but yes. You could not live fully and I certainly could not drag along with you in that.'

He fell silent. 'My desire for you, for all of you, was uncontrollable.'

'As was mine, my darling. Do you now see that? That is why I had to leave. That is why I had to run, for I could not have walked away. I had to run, to flee, to force myself as far from you as possible. I could not stay as it would have made denying you impossible, and hence it would have made my life impossible. I had no choice but to leave.'

I lay upon him and silence quickly healed the passionate exchange of truths.

He held me tight.

'I am here now and I am all yours. There is nothing else,' I said, kissing his naked chest.

'Aye, nothing else.' He relaxed and stroked my arm again. 'I have so much to show you, my love, so much to teach you … but you must rest today, allow your body to mend itself. Next time I will make it perfect.'

'You already have.'

At length we rose from bed, not early. John and Mary asked little but Mary gave me a secret smile or two during the course of the morning.

Edward and I walked that day and sat and talked together, all the things that affirmed to us that all was well.

We retired to bed early, both of us eager to seek comfort in the other's nakedness again, but Edward insisted on me resting for the night. He kissed me and stroked me in ways that made my body crave him yet more, but he did not touch me in the way he had before as he was keen for all to be perfect for the next time. I was barely tender any longer, but he insisted on waiting until the next day. We lay as close as we could and I felt him harder than ever, as desperate for me as I was for him, but we held back. After all, we had time.

The next day we diverted ourselves by taking a ride to Bakewell. Edward said that in bright sunlight – as it was that day – he could discern enough to be able to find his way through the streets with my support. He bought me a new agate necklace which he vowed one day to look on properly.

It passed the time, time that we wished would flee away. We returned to Ferndean at 6 o'clock, and, after a brief supper, retired early.

As soon as the door to the chamber was closed we fell into each other, more eager this time than ever before. I tore at his clothes and he at mine, desperate to be rid of their encumbrance.

He laughed at my haste. 'Such eagerness, Jane, you leave me no option but to take you in hand.'

I thrilled to his words, spoken in jest but with an undertone of intent. I let him pull me against him and rid me of the rest of my clothes. He kissed down my body, lingering again at my breasts. With lips and tongue he drew my need and desire out to a pinnacle of expectation. Further down he sought, further, further. My mind clouded, questioning, but I did not stop him. He was close, so close to that place. I could scarce breathe, and found myself gaining only gasping pants. He pushed my legs apart and I looked down at the top of his head, so perfectly placed. I let him do what he would, disbelieving but hopelessly desiring.

When I felt him, warm and wet and focused, my soul leapt from me and my flesh rejoiced. I placed my hands on the top of his head as in a blessing and watched as he continued, so carefully, so intently. Was this real? Was this happening? Did others do this? Was life as vivid and glorious for all as it was for me? Oh, it should be. This is what God intended, this is what God gave us in this extraordinary thing called life. Instead of the crashing shame that could have come, I felt only immense happiness and pride, yes, pride, to realise that we had discovered it, Edward and I; we had untapped that great and precious mystery of togetherness.

He stayed there as my pleasure brewed, swiftly and inexorably, but just as it was about to wash over me as it had before, he pulled back. I was almost resentful, but one look at my husband, his face gleeful and intent, and my frustration was quelled. Once again he pulled me to the bed, but instead of lying me flat on it this time, he pushed the pillows under my back so that I was raised up.

'No more tenderness?' he asked, although the words were indistinct through his lust.

'None at all,' I replied, urging him on.

He stood on the floor before the bed and pulled me forward, moving the pillows under me. I brought my legs around his waist, but he took them and placed them one on each shoulder. I was exhilarated, such ideas never having occurred to me. But I did not doubt his skill or experience – although I confess that a moment of disquiet – dare I say jealousy – ran through me at the thought of others who had previously benefitted from his skills.

His fingers were at me again, in me, and I welcomed them. He chuckled at my ardent moans but soon removed his hand and placed himself ready. With my first time apprehension banished, I welcomed him wholly and utterly, opening willingly to him. He pushed in deep in one move, and I cried out again, not this time in pain but in exquisite pleasure. He had assuaged my emptiness, filled me with all of him again, and I was happy. He sank deep into me, hard and true, with sharp affirming thrusts accompanying those low guttural moans, ensuring he was as embedded as ever man could be.

His attentions to me beforehand ensured that I was primed and ready for pleasure to take me. Now he moved steadily, stroking along me and somehow finding a place inside that only served to deepen the pleasure taking hold. I tossed my head to the side and revelled in it. 'Edward … my Edward …'

His hand moved to where we were joined and, even as he moved within me, his fingers found that place again, that tender bud from which he'd brought me such joy.

Oh, it was all too much. I wondered again if I could survive it.

'Come, my Jane, come for me,' he murmured.

The meaning of his words was lost on me, but the sound of his voice urging me on meant that I would tumble from the precipice soon enough. He moved swiftly and deeply and his fingers rubbed in time with his thrusts. His own brow was beaded with perspiration, his head was back, his eyes closed and his neck strained. Never had I seen a sight of such glorious masculine abandon. I had done it to him and I would take his pleasure along with my own.

With a rising cry, I fell from the edge, that glorious thunder of ecstasy ripping through me again. The hard fullness of him inside me rendered it more powerful than before and for a moment robbed me of awareness. But through my pleasure, I felt and heard his. He released within me with such a moan of happiness that it sent another jolt or rapture through me.

When it finished, Edward braced himself over me and caught his breath with a laugh. Together, we moved higher up the bed and he lay atop me, still inside. 'Now that is what I had always intended, Janet. That is what we can be.'

'I never doubted you,' I said, joining him in his elation.

'And just think,' he added, 'we have our lives together to do that again and again and again.'

'Do you promise me that, Mr Rochester?'

He bent to me and kissed me. 'I promise you, Jane.'

And so we are joined. I am soul of his soul, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh.

Oh, Edward! My hope – my life – my love.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. As ever, reviews and thoughts are greatly appreciated. I suspect this is not the last time I shall visit these two. LL x**


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